


layover

by casualbird



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: AFAB Kurapika, Developing Relationship, Domestic, Explicit Consent, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Morning Sex, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Nonbinary Kurapika (Hunter X Hunter), Other, Pet Names, The Most Embarrassing Fantasy Kurapika Has Ever Had, but also sexual intimacy, leorio's male living space, post-anime but not otherwise canon-compliant, probably set during the chimera ant arc or something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: Perhaps they’d just known the way that Leorio would hold them at the doorstep--tentative, but warm, shielding, dripping with the affection that he never knew how to turn off.That he’d take them in, with hopeless tears in his eyes and a great many questions in his throat, most of which he was stunned enough to leave unsaid.Are you hungrymade it out, though, andd’you want a drink,andtell me, how can I help?Kurapika, stranded in town overnight, pays Leorio a visit.
Relationships: Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight
Comments: 27
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter 1

There were still twelve hours in Kurapika’s layover, and for once, this wasn’t an annoyance.

It should have been be. They should have been holed up in some hotel room by now, sitting stiff down the edge of the bed, twitching. _Should_ have been getting something done--should have had their ear to the grindstone, nosing out leads--but on nights like these, productivity becomes increasingly difficult.

So. At the very least, they should’ve been dissociating to the humdrum television thrum, pushing the last bites of lackluster room service around their plate, paying distant mind to when it will become absolutely mandatory that they remove their binder.

As it is, though, it was already off, hand-washed and hanging on a shower-curtain rod, their ribs slackening against the pilled inside of a too-large collegiate sweatshirt.

Which belongs to Leorio. Because Kurapika has paid him a visit.

They might as well have, they were more or less stranded in town. Sure, they could have found another boilerplate hotel room, yellow-lit and liminal, but even as a pro Hunter they’d never been able to shake the idea that money didn’t fall from the sky.

Perhaps this was Leorio rubbing off on them, or perhaps they were just looking for some justification as to why they’d turned up at his apartment unannounced, at midnight, in the pelting hail.

Perhaps they’d just known the way that Leorio would hold them at the doorstep--tentative, but warm, shielding, dripping with the affection that he never knew how to turn off.

That he’d take them in, with hopeless tears in his eyes and a great many questions in his throat, most of which he was stunned enough to leave unsaid. _Are you hungry_ made it out, though, and _d’you want a drink,_ and _tell me, how can I help?_

And, over and over again, _are you alright?_ It made Kurapika laugh, the insistence of it--the same words that always looped on and on in their voicemail.

“I am,” they’d said, and then added, at a murmur, “it’s good to see you.”

So good that they’d let themself be fussed over, ushered into a steaming bath while Leorio wrestled his old can opener, hustled their clothes to the laundry room downstairs.

Ideally, the jacket ought to have been dry cleaned. They made a note to hassle him about it, but not at that moment--just bundled their wet hair into an overstretched elastic, cinched the drawstring on a borrowed pair of sweats as tight as it’d probably ever been. Gorged themself on a truly inadvisable amount of spaghetti-os, sitting cross-legged on Leorio’s sagging secondhand couch, and felt much more human afterward.

Leorio talked. How his studies were going, news from the kids. The bastard he’d met at the open-air market the week prior, and the upperclassman who never seemed to tire of coolly, breezily making everyone look bad.

How dearly he’d missed Kurapika, how he’d been just overjoyed by the last call back he’d gotten, how he’d bolted from cadaver lab to take it.

Despite themself, and without knowing quite why it had to be _despite themself,_ Kurapika sighed a little laugh at the image. Listed sidewise against him, soft despite his boniness, and rested there in the near-silence, the lull of hail, of cars outside and half-dimmed lights.

Leorio asked before draping one arm around their shoulders, before gathering them close and _cradling,_ as if Kurapika was a painted eggshell, a shivering tight-veined heart, as if they might at any second break for the door.

He was so warm, though, and smelled softly of dryer sheets.

Kurapika, once again despite themself, wanted to stay and stay and stay.

They asked before kissing the knob of his wrist, a long, gentle press of dry lips that made his breath shake.

Leorio nuzzled into them, then, nose in their hair even though it was still wet, even though stray strands must have stuck in his mouth. He sighed in wistful satisfaction, murmured their name, asked, once more, _is this okay?_

Kurapika wanted to tell him not to be a gentleman, but this sounded suspiciously like a line, so instead they just asked, with husky voice and half-lidded, pinkening eyes, if he’d like a kiss.

He would, and there was a shifting as he guides Kurapika steadily into his lap, settling broad hands tentatively on their back. Long fingers splayed over their shoulder blades, and it felt--fortified, safe. Kurapika was halfway through a warm, contented sigh when Leorio kissed them, gentle with lips slightly parted, just as chapped as Kurapika’s own.

And they stayed like that, a while, pausing periodically to catch their breaths, to hold themselves forehead to forehead and smile, muzzy-headed and wobbling.

Leorio’s voice was soft as chamomile tea when he eventually leaned back, murmured _oughta get you to bed._

Wet lips pursed in a valiant stride toward cheekiness. “You don’t say,” they remarked, and Leorio jerked.

“I--I mean--” and then a sigh, long and harrumphing. Kurapika couldn’t even take issue with the exasperation for all the _love_ that saturates it, soaks it through. “You’re tired.”

It almost sounded like _I don’t want to hurt you,_ and Kurapika colored at the thought of someone--of _Leorio_ still thinking they need delicate treatment.

It wasn’t a bad feeling. Tha revelation stumbled them so that they just muttered _yes, doctor._ Not too acidic, not too sweet--a vinaigrette of a sentence, with a kick that made Leorio laugh.

A hot clammy hand found its way into their hair again, brushing slow around the shell of their ear. It was a deliberate motion, like he’d been waiting on the chance to try it out.

“Oh believe you me, pal,” he rasped, “it’s not that I don’t want to.”

Kurapika’s head was too full of cotton wool, then, to tell him this is obvious. Softened, and buzzing gently, like their brain’s been through a microwave--they stood, let Leorio heft them like royalty and carry them (straining and swearing) to his half-made bed.

“Damn, Peeks,” he huffed, laying them down on the side that didn’t sag, “y’must be all muscle.”

No answer--just a narrowing of dawn-pink eyes, just _“Peeks?”_ deflected back, with a teasing incredulity.

A dent appeared in Leorio’s cheek, as if he were chewing the inside of it. “Should I, uh, not?”

Kurapika considered this. _Peeks._ By all rights it’s the silliest thing they’ve ever heard, and they were not a silly person. Generally speaking, they couldn’t afford to be.

But like the whirring space heater in the corner, like the scrubs that hung haphazard in the closet, like the washed-out comforter they lay on--it felt… homely. _Nice,_ when things so rarely were.

A little smile came across their face, its sarcasm dulled by exhaustion. “If you say it in front of anybody else,” they warned, “I will--you will not like whatever it is I decide to do.”

Leorio beamed, like he’s won five thousand Jenny on a scratchcard. Kurapika knew exactly--they’d seen it happen.

They shook their head a little, call him _oaf_ in a tone that sounds like _darling._ Bid him, with that same mock exasperation, to come to bed. To hold them.

Leorio did, softly, steadfast, satisfied.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pika is afab here, but i don't use any particular terminology to describe their downstairs situation. hope this works for you!

Leorio, in a blind, artless grope for his alarm clock, jostled Kurapika awake. Their indignance didn’t last much more than a second, though, no longer than a lurch back, a grumbling whine before they bedded back down, curling to keep the east-window glare from their eyes.

Kurapika had always been an abrupt, dutiful riser, up and on and out like the flicking of a lightswitch. They’ve never been one for the nine-minute siren song of the snooze button--it always seemed like a waste of perfectly good life, nine more minutes in the sag of some mattress, face pressed to a pillowcase they wouldn’t dare look at under black light.

They’d never slept in Leorio’s bed before. The bed’s halcyon days had long gone, yes, but the flannel sheets were clean enough, and what of the comforter Leorio didn’t hog was plenty warm. 

Of course, none of this was near as much a draw as the man himself.

It was like he had his own gravity, like he was the _sun_ or something, warm and sustaining and right. Kurapika settled into the splay of him, still stunned at how well they fit. Their hip locked with Leorio’s trim waist, their shoulder in the crook of his arm. Leorio’s face listed into them, nuzzled their scalp, and he gathered them, blearily and instinctually, closer.

They felt his ribs like this, the jut of his chin, and it made them think--well, it was silly, really. And Kurapika very rarely afforded to be silly.

Something in them, something they’d relegated to some hindbrain broom closet, whispered _if not now, when?_

It was true. At seven-oh-two, there were still a solid fifteen minutes before they needed to be up, another hour before they’d have to find the airport. Their flight boarded two hours after that, and… Well, it was as simple as _Leorio is here/soft/good-smelling/holding you._

So. Kurapika allowed themself to be put in mind of… something a little embarrassing.

It was inevitable, when a person spent as much time on liminal midnight flights as Kurapika did, that one would eventually be shown a substandard medical drama. They’re all the same--the slow beep of heart monitors, gross scientific inaccuracies. Kurapika could never stand them--particularly not when the dashing young doctor went to bed with someone whom workplace power dynamics dictated he oughtn’t. This, too, was inevitable, though Kurapika always dimly thought it strange that people who worked in such a dismal, exhausting environment would be so randy all the time.

But. It happened, time and again. The doctor, the nurse, the resident, the patient. Lying in a low-lit bed somewhere, in underthings that always seemed too nice for everyday wear. The doctor would kiss this person, would laugh, would lilt soft that they had something to show them.

It would start with a peck on the forehead, maybe, a whispered list of skull-plates. Down the cervical vertebrae, pausing to mouth at the clavicle, and on.

The same, always. Always--not to put too fine a point on it, but Kurapika had always thought it was _stupid._ It seemed as if it’d take too long, it’d inevitably end with the awkward regarding of one’s partner’s toes, and Kurapika already knew the bones besides.

Still. On rough dark skies, in a stiff seat, breathing chill, recycled air… it always made Kurapika feel a little warmer. A little safer.

This was, undoubtedly, the most humiliating thing about them. As such--even after the memory of all these maudlin films, after the sensation of Leorio’s arm notching in their waist made up their mind--they didn’t mention it.

They just nudged at him, soft with an elbow, shifted down to meet his glassy eyes.

“Mmmngph,” he sighed, breath warm at Kurapika’s ear. _“Peeks...”_

 _Lazybones,_ they thought, and was washed again in that feeling, that dear exasperation that only Leorio could make.

“It is,” they murmured, somewhat thickly, “quite a while until I have to be at the airport.”

Leorio made a noise, an affirmative little muttering. Lifted his head, scrubbing fingers through flattened hair. “Make you breakfast. Y’wan’ pancakes? I’ll make some pancakes.”

They found themself smiling, just slightly, as they reached for him, holding him fast to the bed. “I can eat when I get there,” they said, “I’d rather you stayed here with me.”

He huffed, and Kurapika knew he was just _vibrating_ to inform them precisely which meal was the most important of the day. Still, Leorio had an admirable better judgment when it counted, and at that moment he used it to settle back in, to lay his lips on the nape of Kurapika’s neck, mumble something indistinguishable. Either ornery or saccharin--Kurapika couldn’t tell, but cherished it regardless.

For all of Kurapika’s grand designs, nothing seemed more urgent for that moment than to let Leorio hold them, to soak in his warmth, his placid heartbeat, to charge up for... for however long they’d be apart. They could never be sure, and they shivered with it, a little, shifting around to face him.

“Kiss me properly,” they breathed, warm and humid in the inch between them, “if you like.”

It felt the same as it had last night--soft and sustained, warm without burning. Like sitting by a space heater, blanket in one’s lap, or an endless, mini-marshmallowed mug of cocoa. It felt like coming in from the hail, it felt _safe._

Kurapika wanted it for _so_ much longer than the alarm clock would allow, so deeply that it shook them, left a low cast of berry pink across Leorio’s face.

He asked them if something was wrong, then, because he was a precious man. The only answer Kurapika could manage was a shake of the head, another kiss. Their hand darted down to where Leorio’s curled in the hem of their sweatshirt, guided it up to press palm-down across their ribcage.

A quick study--Leorio’s hand formed to the bow of their chest, petting, knobby fingers slotting between ribs. He found a scar, not too far from somewhere dangerous, and paused there, brushing it with his thumb like one might a rosary bead, a rare coin.

“Peeks,” he sighed, and slipped his palm over their bare waist, drawing them as close as they could be. There was scarcely any room to breathe, and everything was exactly as it ought to have been.

Kurapika kissed his jaw--bristly!--and laughed, a wind-chime sound they’d never let themself make anywhere but here. _Is that my name now,_ they wondered, not unkindly.

Leorio kept on, running slow, sweeping hands over their bare back, lingering at the waistband of their sweats. Kurapika couldn’t count the times they’d made to grant him permission when he’d stroked up again, strumming their spine and tracing the tips of their shoulder blades.

“Hmmngnfph,” he’d muttered, tone still dragging with sleep, “Y’re perfect, _fuck,_ I--”

And then nothing, his face burrowing into the line of Kurapika’s neck, taking a long, deep inhale of his detergent, his body wash on their warm skin.

Kurapika figured--given Leorio’s shudder, his much-pleased little moan, that they must have smelled like _his._

And then, with Leorio’s mouth wide and warm across their pulse point, they couldn’t figure anything at all. Mussed hair, love bites--these were problems for another Kurapika, the one who existed in suits and business-class cabins, the one with bloody fingernails that didn’t wear sweatpants, didn’t sass, didn’t _love._

It was nice _\--all-consumingly nice,_ like an old beloved book, a nap in summer sun--to be someone other than that Kurapika, even for a little while.

When Leorio surfaced for air--or perhaps just to look them in the eyes again, to parse out every facet of rich color--Kurapika couldn’t bear to let him breathe.

They kissed him, and bless Leorio for taking it in stride, for not minding the teeth-clacking force, the glaring inexperience. For welcoming Kurapika’s arms around his middle, even though they cleaved to him so tightly that they shook.

When Kurapika let him go, for a moment, all he did was smile, brush a clinging hair from their wet lips, murmur soft “I got you, Peeks, I got you.”

“I know,” breathed Kurapika, because they did, because it was among the world’s most fundamental precepts.

With a tender kiss to their forehead, and Leorio went on _\--I’ll take care of you, if you let me,_ please _let me…_

A little laugh, a breathed _of course._ Leorio’s wide, foolish grin suited him even better with a full-face flush, with wet lips and wetter eyes. Kurapika adored him--it showed in the slackening of their spine, the soft violet-red tone in their eyes, the curl of their fingers in his shirt.

“Then--tell me how you want it.” His voice shook, as well as his hand where it formed to the crest of Kurapika’s slim hip.

Kurapika shook their head, slow, not actually dissenting. Feathery bangs fell into their eyes, and Leorio wasted no time reaching to sweep them away, letting his fingers trace the angle of their jaw. Listening, intent.

“I can’t really say that I know,” they said, lowly. “I know--the mechanics, as it were, but not what I _like._ I’ve hardly had time to--” A sigh, a halfway-anxious laugh. Leorio’s bed was a fortress, and such things were not welcome guests just then.

They gathered themself, and were put in mind once more of the medical dramas. Of that closeness, enough to know someone’s every component, hold every little constituent part.

It was still silly, and they didn’t mention it. Perhaps some other time. They turned the question on him, instead, laughing at the way his eyebrows raised, the way he bit into his lip.

As if he’d been _thinking_ about it. As if Kurapika had breezed in, handed him their coat, and when he opened the closet all and sundry came clashing to the floor. For an instant, Kurapika was sure it was embarrassment, but then--a warm smile, a softening of the eyes.

“You’re a peach,” he said, with a little peck to their brow. “Pal, I could tell you… every little thing I’ve ever thought about, but uh. We don’t have that kind of time, I don’t think.”

A pause. Kurapika raised their eyebrows, and looked almost as if they’d meant it.

“‘Sides, it’s your, uh--I wanna make it nice.” Kurapika kissed him at this, because if they didn’t they were going to call him _stupid,_ say _of course it’s already nice,_ and that seemed… counterintuitive. To the niceness of it.

It took a moment, in which he just held them, stroked their jaw and clutched them close. If Leorio wasn’t the strongest man in some areas--in areas that Kurapika was generally concerned with--this didn’t stop them from feeling like the safest person in all the world.

“I don’t care, so long as you stay up here,” they said, somehow still shy to the words _so long as you can kiss me, so long as you can hold me._

Leorio nodded at this, which--they were close, and he bonked Kurapika a little on the forehead, making them hiss a laugh. He apologized readily, kissing it better and then some, leaving frantic pecks all across their face. Ending up, cleverly enough, nuzzling the soft space beneath their ear, making them shiver.

“If y’don’t wanna kick me out of bed after that,” he mumbled, completely heedless that it was his own bed, his own _apartment,_ that Kurapika was an uninvited guest, “I could, uh--with my fingers?” As if there was a question, as if Kurapika wasn’t shimmying out of those borrowed sweats already, laying one thigh across the ridge of Leorio’s hip.

Leorio made a face that Kurapika had seen him make when he’d just been punched in the gut. It shone like a fountain full of coins, and again Kurapika couldn’t help kissing him.

It was only when Leorio managed to uncurl his fingers that one broad hand stroked across the curve of Kurapika’s bruised ribs, their abdomen, the suede-soft cleft where hip met thigh.

“‘Kay?”

His voice was so soft, so warm, his heartbeat so _steady._ Of course it was okay, Kurapika told him, and didn’t even balk at the whine in their voice.

Just gently, two fingertips eased between Kurapika’s thighs, petting tentative. For all the care he took, though--Kurapika seized, spasmed, made a truly ignominious noise.

Leorio bit his lip, cocked his head, murmured _good?_ And--reflex told Kurapika to scold him for asking so many questions, but it was… well, for one thing it was futile. For another, it struck them that even though they had to board in two-ish hours, even though the alarm would start shrilling again any minute, _faster_ wasn’t any of what they wanted.

They thought again of the wretched doctor movies, of the down-tempo easy listening music that played over those scenes. The slow slide of palms across sore spots, treading lightly on bruises, new scars.

Kurapika sighed, giving their leave with a shallow nod, twining their legs until their ankle rested in the crook of his knee. They could feel his pulse there, too, easy even as it quickened.

“There you go,” he rasped, carrying on with the brush of his fingers, cupping his warm hand. Kurapika quivered, canted into it, earned themself another kiss. “Like that?”

Leorio was so close when he spoke that their soft-swollen lips brushed, and Kurapika was struck by the realization that there’d be no hope for the shaking to stop until quite a long while after.

It was fine. Leorio held them, rubbed them gently, whispered soft things in their ear. _That’s it, sweetheart, Peeks…_ there was no room for dignity, no place for straight spines or stiff upper lips.

They wanted to suffuse themself in it, in the smell of detergent, the slow circling of trained fingertips, the patient rock of hips into their thigh. Wanted to _stay_ in it, even after Leorio stiffened and jerked, voice hitching, even after he sighed with such deep contentment that Kurapika felt it like a hot bowl of soup, like toweling one’s hair off after a rain.

There wasn’t room to think of the alarm clock after that--they just laid there in Leorio’s hands, slack and spasming at once, listening to the soft white noise of breath and _Kurapika, look at you, perfect…_

And then they were--spilling over, fingers scrabbling at Leorio’s back, curling close into his chest, into the tearstained collar of his sweatshirt. Into him, further into his gentling, cradling hold.

Everything was present and correct. All their bones’d been named, counted, individually adored. They were, still, and for a little while longer, the safest person in the world.

The two of them stayed that way ‘til the alarm sounded again, ‘til they separated, grumbling, drudging on with the day. Leorio made pancakes, burnt-edged and over-syruped, and took pains to make sure Kurapika hadn’t forgotten anything. He insisted that they keep the sweatshirt, on premise that it got cold in airships, strange hotel rooms.

It was almost as if they were just--a business traveler, doing something safe and routine and boring like international sales, something _regular_ As if this wasn’t the first time they’d left, early in the morning with an overlong hug, a misty wistful smile. Really, the only indication that they were anything other than ordinary people was Leorio’s Hunter license, hanging on a lanyard by the door, and the subtle wine-red tinge in Kurapika’s eyes.

For an instant, just a flicker of a fraction of a second, Kurapika let themself wish that they were. That they’d go, and present from a slideshow, have a networking chat with people they found unpleasant in the everyday, irksome kind of way, that they’d be back at this apartment in a week. That Leorio would be waiting there, with his spaghetti-os, his washed-soft towels, old sheets that smelled so wonderfully quotidian, so _lived-in._ That he would hold them again, make sure all their little components were perfectly in place.

Still. They sighed, and squeezed him one last time, and turned to leave.

Before they’d got over the threshold, Leorio was blustering in their ear again: _Peeks, I’ll miss you, call me if you need anything, let me know when your flight lands safe._

“I will,” they said, and they deeply, genuinely meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this! this is the sappy ass fic i wish i could have written all those years ago when i watched hxh for the first time! cross that shit right off my bucket list! hell yell!
> 
> let me know what you thought of this, and if you like, come hang out with me on [twitter!!!](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) OR my [hxh server!!](https://discord.gg/DQm6nUE)
> 
> also, go listen to 'like real people do' rIGHT now, it's what i'm gonna do.
> 
> thanks!!! later!!! have a good one!!!

**Author's Note:**

> hlo! thank you for reading this!! it has been desperately self-indulgent and i am still a little incredulous that other people would in fact want to look at it. this is the fic i wish i could have written years ago, so it's very exciting to have the skill to do it now!
> 
> do let me know what you thought--especially if the characterization is alright, i'm just now getting back into hxh after a loooong time, so i feel a little anxious about writing these voices correctly. also, come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) or in my shiny new [hxh server](https://discord.gg/NHSZ7fp) if you like, i need more hxh pals!
> 
> have a good one! :^>


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